


Curiosity

by bevewrites



Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Almond - Freeform, Brothels, Drumfred, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, France (Country), M/M, Prostitution, Sassy French Prostitutes, Slow Burn, Sort Of, Victorian Homosexuality, Voyeurism, here for the long haul, sexual identity crisis, that right folks, ugh i'll add more tags as the chapters progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 13:03:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12458358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bevewrites/pseuds/bevewrites
Summary: Alfred, already struggling with his identity, finds a brothel really isn't the place to be. However, it does spark some realisations."“This isn’t really my sort of thing.”“Oh. Oh. We have men here as well-““What?”“-they have to be hidden you see, but I can show you if-““Madam you misunderstand!” Alfred blushed furiously."Set during the court's visit to France, Alfred slowly begins to stop repressing his feelings for Drummond. But it's a long process.





	Curiosity

**Author's Note:**

> hello! hope you like slow burn because this is gonna... burn slowly. hope you enjoy and feedback is much appreciated!
> 
> if you wanna listen to a drumfred playlist that i'm always adding to, here's the link: https://open.spotify.com/user/marcusaureliusantoniusaugustus/playlist/1opppq5CPEbvKhWVfT4R9p (warning: expect angst/fluff/grief for this playlist)
> 
> also there is some French in this - my French is mediocre at best so if you spot any errors i'd be grateful if you could point them out!

Alfred had been enthralled by the beauty of France in the daytime, but as the sun ebbed away he’d found something more distasteful. A large part of this change in attitude was due to the fact he had been coerced into spending the evening with Ernest and several other members of the court – all respectable young men until exposed to the darkness of evening and debauchery. Alfred felt out of place amongst them – he enjoyed drinking, yes, he could stand bawdy behaviour, but as he stepped over the threshold of the brothel, he felt he was a literal step too far.

Alfred’s anxious daze was interrupted by Ernest’s hand slapping down on his shoulder. “Alfred… You are so… English!” he chuckled far closer to Alfred’s ear than he was comfortable with. “You’re too stiff – you must remember, you are not in England anymore, this is _France_. You see these women?” He gestured to the numerous women in overly tight corsets lounging around the room. “They will do _anything_ you ask them to. Anything! Your deepest desires… God, I love this country.” He took a swig from his hipflask.

Alfred considered Ernest’s words. _Deepest desires_. His desires didn’t involve French women, or even, come to think of it, women at all. When desire was mentioned, one particular face flared in his mind. He pushed the thought away, feeling uneasy. The air was far too hot and smelt strongly of unpleasant perfume, and all he could hear was flirtatious giggles and muffled moans from rooms far off. He needed an exit plan. His eyes searched the room, fixing on a tired looking young woman in the corner of room. _Perfect_ , he thought. He breathed in, steadied himself, and made his way over to the woman who eyes were beginning to flutter shut.

“Excusez-moi, er, madam.” He winced at his own poor French.

“S'il te plaît, monsieur, je suis fatigue.”

Alfred couldn’t understand her, but he could tell she was reluctant He swallowed his guilt. “Madam, er, come, er, avec moi.”

She sighed laboriously and gave him her hand. “Anglais, ils sont tous des merdes.”

As Alfred was led away, he searched the room for Ernest, finding him reclined on a sofa between two women. “Ernest!” he called, trying to sound as if he wasn’t thoroughly miserable. Ernest, now flushed so red he looked almost ill, looked up. Alfred gestured to the woman leading him by the hand, who rolled her eyes.

“Il est un enfant!” she muttered under her breath.

Ernest grinned, delighted. “Give him whatever he wants!” Ernest shouted gleefully. “The Duke of Saxe-Coburg demands it!” His words made Alfred feel slightly nauseous, and he cringed at his indiscretion.

He was led out of the main room and down a corridor, and at this point he quickly stopped the aggravated woman. “Madam, I do not – je n'aime pas…” She glared at him.

“My English is apparently better than your French.”

“Yes, yes, commendably so. “ Alfred felt relieved – he could at least explain his odd behaviour now. “I don’t actually want to do this.”

“I can see that.” There was a hint of a smile on her lips.

“This isn’t really my sort of thing.”

“Oh. _Oh_. We have men here as well-“

“What?”

“-they have to be hidden you see, but I can show you if-“

“Madam you misunderstand!” Alfred blushed furiously.

“Don’t get so flustered – they are very popular with upper-class men such as yourself.”

“How dare you – that is not what I mean! My friend dragged me here tonight, I just wanted to seem like I was… partaking to get him to leave me alone.”

“Alright, I believe you, sir.” She grinned smugly. Alfred noted that his discomfort had perked her up considerably. “Now if you could see yourself out, I’m going to retire.” He watched the woman walk away from him, trying to push her knowing looks from his mind. He felt very alone now, standing in middle of the empty, poorly lit corridor. He wondered what Drummond was doing that this precise moment. Perhaps he was sleeping, or perhaps he was spending the night reading like he so often did. There was something beautiful about the way Drummond could be engrossed in a book. He didn’t just read it, he _devoted_ himself to it, eyes never leaving the pages. Alfred found watching him read just as engrossing – the way his expression changed with the story, sometimes deathly serious, sometimes in a wideset grin that made his eyes crinkle. He’d chuckle to himself on occasion, and Alfred would ask him what was funny just to see the way his eyes lit up as he explained it. He hoped Drummond has stayed up tonight so that he might see him when they finally returned. Because he was his friend and he wanted to talk to him. Nothing more.

He realised he’d been staring aimlessly into the mid-distance for a while, and it then dawned on him that in order to leave he’d have to go past Ernest again. He sighed, and began half-heartedly searching for a place to hide, his thoughts elsewhere. He decided he would just find an empty room to sit down in and wait for a while until it seemed like he’d been gone for a sufficient amount of time, before returning and (hopefully) going back to the palace.

He opened a door near the end of the corridor, beginning to walk inside before stopping in his tracks as he was met with startling sight. A couple occupied the bed, one lying down, the other was straddled a-top of him, head thrown back and vigorously rolling their hips. They were both moaning impressively, and they were both _men_. Alfred felt his mouth go dry. There was something hypnotising about the sight and he found he couldn’t move. The sound of skin hitting skin sent a depraved thrill though him, and the way the man on top seemed to shudder with every thrust…

His daze was interrupted when he made eye contact with the man laying down.

“Regardez!” he hissed at his companion, who looked round to face Alfred, still thrusting all the while.

“Je pense qu'il aime ce qu'il voit!” the man on top called out in an amused tone. They both laughed breathlessly, and Alfred cursed his inability to understand them while swiftly slamming the door shut. He paced down the corridor, sweating and muttering profanities under his breath. Why did he stand there so long, gaping like a gormless idiot? The hot air must getting to him, he concluded. The hot air didn’t explain the aching erection he was suffering, but he elected to ignore this. He walked into the main hall, and god, if there was any remedy to an unwanted erection, it was the sight of Ernest sloppily kissing a rather reluctant looking woman.

Alfred walked up to him. “I’m leaving, Ernest.”

Ernest broke away from kissing, leaving his companion looking relieved. “Well, that was quick!” he exclaimed with a wry smile. Alfred scowled. “Why go home now? Why not join us – Therese here would enjoy your company.” He gestured to another bored and unkempt looking woman. _Therese looks like she might enjoy a bath_ , Alfred thought to himself. “No, no. I’m going back to the palace. I’ll see you there tomorrow I suppose.”

“Oh come on Alfred, you’ll upset her!”

“I’m sure she’ll be quite alright. Goodnight.” He left before Ernest could say another thing. He clenched and unclenched his fists in frustration, the words of one of the men ringing in his ears. _Je pense qu'il aime ce qu'il voit_. He wished he knew what he meant.

The walk to the carriage was cold and longer than he’d remembered. He climbed inside, told the driver to go, leant against the wall of the carriage and watched the gloomy French streets pass him by. Flashes of what he’d seen that night lit up his mind. He thought of the two bodies sliding together, he thought about being one of the bodies, he thought about Drummond being the other, and instead of feeling angry with himself for thinking about his friend that way, his eyes filled with tears. This rotten part of him was inescapable, and it frightened him. As he was carried through dark empty streets, he realised he had never felt so alone. He thought about what it would be like to lean his head on Drummond’s chest and simply stay there, a thought which worked to comfort and torment him in equal measures. Crying was not something he was familiar with, his father had always discouraged it, but this moment made his tears worthy with its bleakness. He longed for his bed, and sweet sleep.

The carriage pulled up outside the palace, and Alfred made his way up the steps slowly. He passed the guards without looking at them and silently made his way up the stairs towards his room. The candles in the corridor of the first floor had been long extinguished, so Alfred’s attention was inexplicably drawn to an ajar door which glowed softly. He peered inside the drawing room, met with a sight that made his troubled heart settle. A low fire burned, casting warm golden light on the sole inhabitant of the room: Drummond, who asleep sat in an arm chair, his book dropped to the floor. Alfred stood at the doorway, allowing himself to be fond for a short time. Drummond’s jacket and necktie lay draped over the back of the chair and his shirt was loosened, his hair stuck up at odd angles, and his expression was so peaceful Alfred ached to join him. To observe him in this state felt like a sin, like a privilege, like some cruel torture.

After waiting for a few moments, Alfred decided he couldn’t let Drummond sleep in the drawing room all night, and that he should rouse him. He walked towards the dozing man, careful to be quiet, crouching down to pick up his fallen book. While crouched in front of him, he saw Drummond’s eyes slowly open.

“Drummond.” Alfred said softly. Drummond looked at him through half lidded eyes, not quite properly awake.

“Paget.” He said with a sleepy smile. Then he seemed to remember where he was. ”Alfred! God – what time is it?” He sat upright clumsily.

“It’s late.” Alfred pushed the book into Drummond’s hands. “You dropped this.” The title read _Melmoth the Wanderer_. “It must be quite the tale.”

His excitement shone through his grogginess. “Oh you’ve no idea Alfred – it’s brilliant. A horror like no other – you must read it so we can discuss it.”

“I’d like that very much.” They shared a grin. Alfred stood up and went to stoke final embers in the fireplace.

“How was your evening with the Duke?”

Alfred sighed. “Not all that enjoyable. I’d rather I’d just stayed here. It sounds like you’ve had a better night than me.”

“Well it’s hard to compare – I have spent my night traversing the Indian seas and you have spent your night traversing…”

“France’s brothels.”

Drummond cocked an eyebrow. Alfred felt his heart sink. He hadn’t really meant to tell him that.

“Sounds like you’ve had a more entertaining evening that you’ve let on.” His words were stiff with forced chipperness. “Well, I really am still tired, I should-“

“Drummond, I didn’t…”

“Didn’t what?”

“Partake.”

“Oh.” There was a palpable awkwardness that had settled. Alfred desperately searched his mind his mind for something to say.

“Drummond, your French is better than mine – would you mind translating something for me?”

“Not at all.”

“Let’s see… I think he said ‘Je pense qu'il aime ce qu'il voit’ _._ ” Alfred stumbled over the pronunciation.

“It means ‘I think he likes what he sees’.” Alfred’s eye widened. He tried to appear unphased. “Where did you hear that?”

“Oh, I just heard it in passing – I was curious, that’s all.” Something in Drummond’s expression told Alfred that he didn’t believe him.

“Well, goodnight Alfred.”

“Goodnight Edward.” Alfred barely registered the fact that Drummond had left. He almost wished he hadn’t asked for a translation. Ignorance was bliss. The truth stung _. I think I like what I saw_ , he thought.


End file.
